


Mr Fix-It

by MrProphet



Category: Fables - Willingham
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 12:38:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10697175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrProphet/pseuds/MrProphet





	Mr Fix-It

I picked up a hitchhiker on the way into town. Well, I say a hitchhiker; that implies he was traveling that way. Actually, he was more of your stranded motorist, hitching home. He was standing by his car, shivering in the cold of the clear, winter’s day.

I wasn’t worried about being carjacked. That sort of thing almost never happens to me, and even when it does it’s for the best.

I pulled up and opened the window. “Need a ride into town?” I asked.

“Oh, yes please,” he gasped, hobbling towards me.

“You’re not waiting for the Triple-A or anything?”

He shook his head. “No way of calling them,” he told me. “I don’t care for those mobile phones, although I must admit the utility now.”

I opened the door and he climbed in. He looked the sort not to have a mobile phone. He was not old, just short of fifty, with a little gray in his hair, but he was old-fashioned. His shirt was buttoned up to the collar and his tie was pristine, even though he must have been driving on his own. The suit was good quality, but not designer; probably bespoke, I thought. His coat was the same.

“You live in Broken Creek?” I asked.

“Live and practice; most of the time,” he replied. He looked half frozen and was basking in the heat from the climate control system. “I swear, sir, you have saved my life today. Two other cars already drove past me, just left me standing there.”

“Glad to help,” I assured him.

“Well, nevertheless, I owe you. If there’s anything I can do for you in return, just call on Dr James Cafferty.”

“Well, I will,” I assured him, because that same old-fashioned air gave me the feeling that he was a man for whom such a statement really meant something. I offered him my hand and it was accepted. “Glad to know you, James; I’m Felix Glück.”

“And what do you do, Mr Glück?”

“I’m a troubleshooter,” I replied. “I… fix things for people; for my people.”

*

We drove down into Broken Creek, talking amiably. It began to snow just after we arrived, swiftly blowing up a gale. The snow began to drift across the road behind us in a quite worrying manner. I clearly wouldn’t be leaving for a while.

James was obviously delighted to meet a man of my apparent youth with good manners and a knowledge of pre-1980 cinema. I found it impossible to resist being invited in to meet his wife – and, as if inadvertently, his daughter – and had to drop a few heavy hints about my wife and waggle the old wedding ring in order to extract myself from an invitation to reside with the doctor’s family during my stay. Not that I had much against the idea, but it felt wrong and I trust my instincts in these things, since they tend to be more reliable than my judgments.

From James’s house I went to the town’s single, small hotel and booked in. They were busy and a lot of people had apparently been unable to get out of town because of the drifts, but there was one room free. It was their only suite, but they gave it to me at single price.

I thought that was good of them.

Once I was checked in and secure, I went to the jailhouse and presented my credentials.

“Attorney at Law,” the Sheriff read. “Well, that sure is a fancy load of letters after your name.”

“I’m trying to collect the whole alphabet,” I quipped.

“So, who is it you’re here to see?” the Sheriff asked.

“May Sygny,” I replied. “You’re holding her on a charge of indecent exposure.”

“Right,” he agreed. “Good-looking girl. I can see why she wouldn’t be ashamed of what she’s got, but you’d have to be crazy to go out naked in weather like this.”

I thanked him – it seemed only right, since he’d shown me the way to proceed with this – and went in to see May.

May was one of the swanmaidens, either a beautiful girl who could transform into a swan by donning a suit of feathers, or a swan who could become a beautiful girl by stripping off the same; I was never strong on the mystical theory side of things. She doesn’t feel the cold, very few of the Scandinavian Fables do, but she does have to return to her swan form regularly or lose her powers, and her immortality. There was therefore a very real need to get her out of Mundy jail quickly.

Fortunately, all it took was for my new friend, Dr James Cafferty, to testify that May was suffering from a case of rampant narcissistic exhibitionism, normally controlled with a simple drug therapy. They’d probably have treated that cock and bull story as a feeble gimmick, but they knew, and in knowing trusted, James. Then I got Snow to whip up a shrink in Fabletown who could fax out May’s alleged prescription and we were out of there in time for a very good dinner with the Cafferty’s.

We stopped off later on and got her swan-feather cloak back from the riverbank where she’d left it and spent a comfortable night at the hotel. Before you ask, another room had fortuitously become vacant and so I let May have the suite. She offered to share – the maiden part of swanmaiden appears to be an exaggeration – but I’m a married man, and even though my wife would have forgiven me – I am so lucky to have her – I wouldn’t have forgiven myself. I’ve always liked to think that part of the reason I’m still lucky is that I never wallow in my good fortune.

We drove back to the city the next day, along roads which had, most conveniently, ceased to be snowbound.


End file.
